And The Leaves Fall
by sphinxofthenile
Summary: Crisis Core. When it came to battles, for Genesis there was nothing sweeter than victory. Or was there? Angeal/Genesis


**Disclaimer: I do not own these guys, they own me.**

**Warning: blood, death, violance, yaoi  
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**A/N: First fic written for the areyougame challange at IJ. The prompt was: _Angeal/Genesis: Battlefield sex - That was intense._ Billion thanks to Andrannath aka IceLady for the beta reading, all remaining mistakes are mine. Feedback is love.**

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He swung his weapon in a graceful arc, the blade cutting through flesh with an ease that used to make him cringe inside, but was welcome and as natural as breathing by now. Back then, when he was still but learning to master the blade, the crimson sword slicing deep into bodies and coming away soaked in warm red meant he had killed someone.

Now it meant he was the one still standing.

He lowered the blade to parry a well aimed shuriken, and there was the sharp, shrill cry of the kiss of metal on metal, twisting his full lips in a smirk. He blocked a shortsword aimed at his torso and, upon hearing the soft, wooden click as he stepped, he immediately jumped to avoid the thin, razor sharp string that was meant to cut the tendons at the back of his knee.

These Wutaian people were tricky bastards all right. It took months upon months for Shinra to realise this war would not be won by the sheer number of men they had sent to the western continent. Shinra had more soldiers, better weapons, excellent machinery and the excited, childish enthusiasm of the public that watched the war from afar, like it was nothing but a big fight of gladiators and animals, where victory meant nothing, because it was only entertainment that mattered.

The people of Wutai might have had a smaller army and less developed technology, but they knew every leaf and every rock of the homeland they were defending, every path and every spring. They knew how to use that best to their advantage, their strategists the most brilliant men Genesis could ever want as his opponents. Their knowledge was one that had been laid down into books long before the people of the eastern continent started to build tents and decided to herd their goats together, and it had been passed down to the offsprings through hundreds of generations, from father to son, so that when the day came, the Children of the Jade would be able to protect the land the gods had given them.

They called him the Crimson Tiger of the Autumn Sky and said he was cruel and bloodthirsty. His men called him General Rhapsodos and pretty much thought the same. Except that their eyes carried a tint of devoted awe and rapt fascination for the beauty and magnificence that was the red general.

He thrived on it.

He dodged a bullet, another and another and another, never faltering in the deadly dance that ran through his veins like wildfire, sweetly dangerous and bitterly grave as dark figures swirled around him, dancing to the rhythm of their own heartbeat, their own breathing under the golden-red rust of the autumn leaves of the forest.

Their small platoon was trying to confirm some reports that arose suspicions in the two generals. Originally, only Angeal was supposed to leave with the troops, but in the last moment Genesis decided to tag along, now silently glad he did. They already waited for them, the ambush was well-planned and flawlessly executed, and before they could've blinked, four SOLDIERs fell to the ground with long, vicious arrows in their bodies.

He avoided the last bullet with a flip, landing on the ground almost softly, reverently before he tore the knife from the side of yet another of their fallen comrades and threw it at the man with the gun, not even bothering to check if he hit. The blade cut through the soft flesh of the black figure's throat and he fell to the ground with a choking rattle, finger curling against the trigger in a last, vain attempt of turning the pitched battle in Wutai's favor.

He lunged forward to push his blade through the heart of another man and could hear the sound of swords clashing behind him as Angeal's Buster Sword averted the blade aimed at stabbing him in the back. He looked back over his shoulder and flashed his friend a smile, eyes smug, but also playful and fond – the only thanks he got. But, to Angeal, it was just as much as if the redhead had put it down into an epic poem.

They moved with the fluid ease of a thousand hours spent fighting together into their usual stance, backs towards each other, always knowing when to attack, when to step back to defend the other without looking; how to turn, how fast to move. Two bodies, two wills, one purpose. It not only made them deadly, it made them almost invincible.

More bodies hit the cold ground.

It wasn't the spilt blood that flooded his heart with warmth and pride, nor the dead eyes reflecting the inappropriately clear blue sky. He had learnt not to look at them. These were no humans, they were the _enemy_, they were threat, and the only thing that would put an end to it was to cease their existence. Later at night, he would wonder if he had done the right thing, would try not to remember, not to think about the family these young men might have left behind, not to think about his role in this war. But here and now, survival was stronger and victory sweeter than anything else.

More bodies dropping, collapsing, bleeding, until there was no one else but the two of them in the small clearing, swords still and frozen in the air for a split second, breaths heavy and eyes darting around in search of danger.

His blood pounded in his ears, whirling through his veins like a crimson tornado, the mixture of fear and motion and the scent of blood and death and an indefinable thirst for glory and for more all molded into an intoxicating crescendo of rough, pure excitement and insatiable want for the primal, the carnal, and he swirled around and attacked Angeal's lips like they hadn't just won, like they were the ones who wouldn't see the sun rising to conquer the darkness ever again.

He licked at the lower lip of his friend then bit it, wanting, demanding entry, and Angeal granted it gladly, black gloved hands pulling him closer, stroking, gripping, feeling him up just as he was the other, urgency drowning teasing and gentleness. The next he knew they were on the forest floor among the dry leaves smelling of blood and decay, but he could only feel Angeal's scent in his nostrils – leather, skin, sweat, soap. Just _Angeal_.

This was not what he wanted, this was what he _needed_ – desperate and raw and careless, and now, and now, and _now_...

He could feel Angeal's movements slow down, the first faint touches of reason shivering through him, but Genesis wasn't having any of that. Not here, not now. He pressed his lips to his friend's, pushed his tongue deep inside his mouth, tasting him like he wanted to breathe the younger's very soul into his core. And maybe he did, hands resting on the back of Angeal's neck, not letting go as fingers pulled on unruly black hair enough to rip a groan from Angeal's lips. He thrust his hips, urging, begging, commanding, body writhing impatiently to get out of the confines of constricting leather. He smiled into the feverish kiss as he felt strong, warm hands working his pants off and he lifted his ass into the air as much as he could to make it easier for the other. Not much, but enough. Enough, so Angeal could wrap his fingers around his leaking cock and stroke, hard, rough, fast, just the way he wanted, needed it. He moaned, loud, uninhibited, lustful, jerking, tendons flexing, neck bared in offering, another moan cutting the air when Angeal took the invitation and bit down hard, soothing the broken skin with his tongue.

Genesis' hands found their way down Angeal's back, the swell of his ass to the front of his pants, rubbing through the thick material that made the younger gasp before he moved to undo the buttons, shaky fingers more tearing at them then working them open, but as Angeal slowed the movement of his caressing hand, he could gather himself enough to make it, leather clad fingertips ghosting over the head before tugging the pants down on powerful hips, thumbs brushing over sensitive hipbones, wishing, longing for more, for Angeal buried deep inside him, no matter the pain. But he knew it wouldn't happen, not here, not now, and he thrust his hips harder, fucking Angeal's hand with more vigor, one red leather gloved hand wrapping around Angeal's erection to reciprocate all the blissful sensations, trying to take in the full beauty of those steel blue eyes looking down on him.

Angeal watched as he lay there, framed in blood, the blood of others, like autumn had cried red on him as it did to the leaves around them, young and beautiful, his lips parted and pouring small noises of lust and love. And the thought struck him again, not for the first time, but far stronger than ever before – the realization that he could've lost all that, could've lost Genesis. Just a tiny piece of metal could've done it...

The redhead moaned, panted his name, a prayer and a curse, a confirmation and a plea as Angeal batted his hand away and took both of them into his palm, stroking faster, hands needing to feel the pale, silky skin of the redhead, ears needing those sounds of pure want, needing to drown his soul in that body to know, to feel it was still his, that it still _was_. His movements became erratic, jerky, so close, so close, and he attacked Genesis' lips with another frenzied kiss, swallowing both their cries as they came hard, fingers digging into flesh and the black earth, sweaty foreheads touching as they collapsed into a drained embrace, panting, sated.

And nothing mattered. Nothing mattered…

"Well, that was..." Angeal barely managed, strength sucked away from him, but swords had nothing to do with it.

"Certainly very out of the line," Genesis offered with a soft chuckle, azure eyes lazily drifting to look at his childhood friend.

"... intense." Angeal smiled, breathing a kiss on the redhead's temple, revelling in the small, secretive smile Genesis gave him. The redhead stretched like a cat, looking up at the autumn sky above them, feeling the pale warmth of the sun on his face and his blood singing with life, so much on his tongue and in his heart. But, for once, he decided not to share it; too profane, too bittersweet in the heaven of Angeal's embrace.

They needed to get going, however, so he extracted himself from those arms and stood up, trying to fix his dishevelled and soiled clothing. He could hear Angeal getting up too and doing the same. And he smiled to himself.

"Ready?" he glanced back over his shoulder as he sheathed his sword, already starting to walk away.

"Wait," Angeal called out after him, and Genesis turned back with a curious glance. The younger man reached out and freed a fallen leaf from between slightly tousled copper tresses, holding it delicately between two fingers. "Here."

Genesis wrinkled his nose as he ran his fingers through his hair, the expression melting into a smile, and soon he joined Angeal's quiet, embarrassed little laughter under the clear autumn sky, before they both turned their backs on the clearing and started to make their way back to the camp, fingers entwining for a long moment as they walked in silence.

There was something sweeter than victory after all. **  
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End file.
